


If I Survive the Night

by KiannaLeigh



Category: My Candy Love
Genre: Angst and Feels, Best Friends, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Mental Anguish, Mental Health Issues, Promises, Self-Harm, Stubborn Castiel, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-07
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-03-29 11:19:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3894427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiannaLeigh/pseuds/KiannaLeigh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lysander had a secret side of him that he kept from everyone, even his family. But somewhere along the line he shared himself with Castiel. To his surprise, his normally callous friend was more than willing to dive headfirst into everything Lysander had been hiding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. If I Survive the Night

**Author's Note:**

> This might not be what you came here for. But really I wrote for me. It’s digital proof that I survived the night.

Castiel entered Lysander’s bedroom quietly, then turned, and shut and locked the door behind him. There was no one in the house but him and Lysander, but Leigh would be back sooner or later and maybe he would bring Rosalya, and Castiel didn’t know if they’d been done by the time that happened. If Leigh came home to a locked bedroom door, he’d assumed they were having sex, and leave them alone. It was one of the good things about Leigh and Rosalya knowing they were in that type of relationship.

After making sure the door was locked, Castiel turned and walked deeper into the room. Lysander’s bed was on the opposite side of the room, situated nearly up against the wall, so that there was only a small space between it and wall where a nightstand stood. It was in this little peninsula of space, with the bed, the wall and nightstand on three sides of him, that Castiel found Lysander. The grey haired man was sitting on the floor cross legged. He had his back against the nightstand and was facing the opening to the aisle-like space.

Approaching silently, Castiel looked at the man, his friend. Lysander was dressed normally from the waist up. He had on a fine white shirt and that day a grey vest and a dark blue cravat. He wore no jacket, but was inside so why would he? But from the waist down …. Lysander was stripped down to his underwear. He wore trunks, like always, form fitting, though not quite as form fitting as briefs. They were grey and had a dark blue waist band. Why Lysander’s underwear normally matched his outer clothes, Castiel didn’t know. It was some sort of compulsion. But it was one he was more than willing to let go, considering.

Castiel’s eyes wandered over Lysander’s nearly naked lower body. The trunks hugged him and the bulge between his legs wasn’t something easily overlooked, especially for Castiel who, firstly, was an eighteen-year-old man with high appreciation for the human body, and who secondly, had been driven to many a scream inducing orgasm by that very organ. However at the moment, it wasn’t Lysander’s sex that commanded the redhead’s attention. It was the blood red lines that crisscrossed over the skin of man’s beautiful inner thighs. Castiel wasn’t sure what upset him more, the fresh, raw wounds dripping blood on the carpet beneath the man, or the dark, ugly scars that marked past episodes.

He knelt down, pulling his book bag off his shoulder and dropping it on the floor. Castiel reached out and put his hand on Lysander’s knee. “Are you okay?” he asked softly.

Lysander took a deep breath, like he was going to cry. Though he never cried. Or at least, Castiel had never seen him cry, not once since that time when he’d first realized this about his friend. The grey haired man let out his breath and smiled his peaceful serene smile. He looked like angel. “I’m okay now,” he replied evenly.

The redhead let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. His eyes dropped, raking over the slices in Lysander’s delicate skin on their way to the carpeted floor. The light grey carpet, that matched the interior of Lysander’s room so well, was discolored with dark brown, dried in puddles that made Castiel’s stomach turn. They were the product of years of episodes going back to before the redhead had even known Lysander existed, but he felt personally responsible for not being able to prevent every inch of the smear. Sometimes he wondered, what if Leigh ever came into Lysander’s bedroom and wanted something from the nightstand. The moment he walked around the bed, he’s see, he’d know.

But that was something that Castiel only let himself be concerned with when Lysander wasn’t adding fresh blood to the ever growing stain. He tore his eyes away from the floor and picked up his book bag, placing it between Lysander and himself. Opening the bag, he rummaged around until he got to the bottom and pulled out a small, black case. With the case in hand, he tossed the book bag carelessly onto the bed. From the case he pulled out some medical gloves and a couple of packets of antiseptic wipes. He put on the gloves and looked at Lysander.

“This will hurt,” he said softly as he tore open one of the packets. He didn’t know why he said it. Lysander knew it would hurt and Castiel knew that he knew. But every time, as he readied himself to clean up the mess left by Lysander’s instability, he found himself muttering those words. This will hurt.

Wordlessly, Lysander put one hand one each of Castiel’s shoulders. The redhead waited until he settled himself in this pose that was so familiar to them before quickly but thoroughly wiping down the cuts. Lysander made no noise, but his grip tightened on Castiel’s shoulders. Castiel wondered if he made a sound as he sliced himself open.

After the cuts were clean, Castiel leaned down and looked at them. They weren’t that deep. He’d seen his friend do worse. Whatever had been running through the man’s head as he picked up his X-Acto knife, it wasn’t as damaging as in the past. The redhead felt relief, then a dark, drowning feeling that something so small should be such a big relief for him. He remembered his mother saying when he was little, “Always thank god for small miracles.” He guessed it was a simple as that.

With a sigh, the redhead collected the dirtied wipes and mashed them into a ball. When they were compressed, he took off the gloves like he’d taught himself from a YouTube video. First pulling at the fingers of one with the other, then carefully balling that glove and the soiled wipes in the hand that was still gloved, and finally slipped two fingers under the rim of the second glove and pulling it off and inside out to bag everything neatly inside it. He put the ball on the floor, where he would deal with it later, then put on a fresh set of gloves.

As he opened a half used tube of antibiotic cream, he heard Lysander humming. Castiel glanced up to find the grey haired man smiling at him, his hands now folding over his stomach. Castiel’s gut twisted, but he smiled back a little. It hurt, but seeing Lysander smile was better than seeing him in pain.

Castiel looked down and began to smear the antibiotic cream over the cuts. “Not much blood this time,” he muttered casually, more casually than he felt. But there was a truth to his words. His standard would always be the first time.

It had been a couple of months before. Lysander asked to stay the week over his house. Well, not the week. He asked to stay a day. Then another. Then another. Somehow a week went by. Castiel had thought Lysander and Leigh were having a fight. But Leigh called and Castiel picked up because Lysander was in the bathroom. Leigh asked how his brother was doing and told Castiel he was happy Lysander was spending so much time with him, as he could, at times, be rather withdrawn. If it wasn’t a fight with Leigh, Castiel wasn’t sure why the man was avoiding going home.

Then he’d gotten up on the middle of the night and found Lysander missing from his place on the sofa when he went to offer him a midnight snack. He looked for him. The only place he didn’t look was the bathroom. And when he knocked, he got no answer, so he went in.

Lysander was in the tub, his pajamas folding neatly in the sink next to Castiel’s – until that time unused – open first aid kit. There had been blood on his hands, blood in the tub. All Castiel could see was blood. He’d never seen so much of it. Lysander was sitting back in the tub. Castiel thought he was dead. He lurched forward and grabbed him. Lysander jolted up, his earbuds falling out of his ears.

“Castiel?” he’d asked, sounding horrified.

Lysander had avoided him for a few days after that. But Castiel brought him around. They worked out a system. The grey haired man didn’t like to keep extra first aid kits in his and Leigh’s apartment. He didn’t want his brother stumbling upon them and asking questions he didn’t want to answer. Usually, he kept one in his locker at school, in a plain back case, and stayed late if his thoughts ran out of control. But Castiel offered to take the case. All Lysander had to do was text “HELP” and Castiel promised to come, night or day, rain or shine, no matter what he was doing. Lysander hadn’t believed him at first and had almost revealed himself when he bled through his patchwork bandages at school. But Castiel, ever an artful lair, had covered for him and cleaned him up in the basement.

After that, he’d received over a dozen texts. One word, all caps. “HELP.” The latest one came in fifteen minutes before. It was good thing he was in the area and Lysander had secretly copied and slipped him an apartment key.

“I was relieved quickly today,” Lysander said easily and seemed to melt into Castiel’s touch.

The redhead could admit, that in some, horrible, morbid way, this was intimate. It was how they’d first had sex, after all.

A month before, the text had come in “HELP” at three in the morning. Luckily, Lysander was only in Castiel’s bathroom. The redhead sighed, pulled himself out of bed, sleep shaken off by intense worry, and marched into the bathroom to find Lysander in the tub.

“Why always in the tub?” Castiel had asked as he cleaned up the man.

Lysander had smiled. “I don’t want to mess up your floor,” he answered.

Castiel had only nodded. Then he brought him back into his bedroom. Lysander was usually fine for at least a week after an episode, but Castiel was growing ever more concerned about him. At this point, he’d taken to carrying the first aid kit around with him, in the bottom of one of his old book bags. He covered the case with junk, in case anyone nosy – mostly Candy or Peggy – decided to look into the bag while it was open. It was irritating and cumbersome to carry around a book bag, filled mostly with useless junk, all the time, but when Lysander sent that word to him, he got up, made excuses to anyone and everyone he was around and went straight to him.

So fixated on Lysander’s well-being, he didn’t trust him on the couch anymore. He forced him to lie in his bed with him. But strangely enough, it was comfortable. The feel of Lysander up against him, his warmth and solidness, made everything else seem somewhat distant, somewhat unreal. When Lysander pressed his mouth to Castiel’s, the redhead didn’t even think to fight it. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but being as close to the man as possible. He knew then that he loved him.

Of course Castiel had felt bad it in the morning. He felt like he was taking advantage of the man’s emotional state. And he felt sick seeing Lysander’s weakness as attractive. But then Lysander, in true Lysander-fashion, surprised him. In the morning he pinned him down, kissing his neck furiously. Castiel had bucked, moaned, but it took him a moment to actually call out anything but Lysander’s name. When he did, Lysander stopped and looked at him curiously.

Castiel had explained why they shouldn’t. Lysander had laughed and explained why they should. His reasoning had broken Castiel. He said two things. The first was: “I’m demisexual.” That, Castiel needed explained to him. When he heard the definition, he was flattered, humbled, and shocked in equal measure. The second thing Lysander said was: “You’re the only one I trust enough.” That, Castiel understood perfectly.

They had sex. Passionately. Tenderly. Constantly.

Lysander was demisexual. Castiel had no business doubting his preferred label for his sexual orientation. But the man was also ravenous. He took Castiel every chance he got. Inviting him over to do homework while Leigh was still at work. Looking at Castiel with silent, pleading eyes to be invited over to stay the weekend at Castiel's parentless apartment. They’d even slipped out of class and into the locker room for a quickie. Repeatedly. They’d nearly gotten caught by Boris once, but Lysander had seemed unfazed, fixing his cravat with cool movements and humming to himself. Castiel was mad, but the feeling of Lysander inside him was too good for him to say no to. When Lysander asked, he always said yes.

Castiel stood and took all the garbage from cleaning up: the two sets of used gloves, the open packets of wipes and gauze, and stuffed them in a plastic bag from his book bag and stuffed that into the book bag. He’d throw it all away at his house later, so Leigh would never see it. As he shoved the medical tape and antibiotic cream into the case and zipped it, out of corner of his eye, he saw Lysander stand up.

He moved gingerly as if testing how his body would move with the gauze, bandages and medical tape. Castiel watched him as he buried the case in the bottom of his bag by touch alone. He’d often wondered how Lysander could move so gracefully when the insides of his thighs looked like the surface of Violet’s self-healing cutting mat, only without the self-healing part. But Lysander, after a few seconds of shifting from one foot to the other, stood normally and edged past Castiel out of the corner, walking with his typical charming elegance.

Castiel logically knew the man must feel pain, but he seriously wondered if his mind processed it like normal people did. He didn’t seem to notice pain much at all. Or else he had the self-control of a god. But then again, if had the self-control of a god, he wouldn’t be doing this in the first place. Castiel couldn’t wrap his mind around it, so he let it go.

Placing the book bag on the floor in front of the nightstand, sitting it directly in Lysander’s drying blood, Castiel sighed.

“Are you okay?” Lysander said from across the room.

Castiel looked at him. The grey haired man was now completely naked, all his clothes in the hamper except his bloodied trunks which he was holding.

“I’m fine,” Castiel lied. “Toss those here.”

Lysander smiled, balled up the undergarment and threw it Castiel, who caught it. He bent down and shoved the soiled clothes into his book bag, under the junk, but above the case. When he stood up again. Lysander had made his way over to the bed. The grey haired man was standing in his knees on one side of the bed, staring at Castiel with a familiar little smile.

The redhead frowned and sighed. “You know, you don’t have to do this to get me in bed.” But as he said it, he pulled off his shirt, need already pooling in his stomach.

“I do,” Lysander replied, not the least bit offended. “But when I panic, and you always come to comfort me, I feel close to you. It’s intimate and I can’t help wanting you afterward.”

“Are you sure it’s not just transference?”

Lysander laughed. Not chuckled. Laughed. Bent over, one hand down on the bed to keep himself up, shaking shoulders, laughed.

Castiel blushed and bared his teeth all once. “What?!” he shouted.

“You’ve been reading the medical articles on Wikipedia again, haven’t you?”

“Maybe …” Castiel admitted. “But still –” He was cut off by a kiss. He wondered, as he kissed back, when Lysander had crossed the distance from one side of the queen sized bed to the other that fast and without him noticing.

Lysander kissed him tenderly while he unbuttoned his jeans and slipped a hand inside.

Gasping, Castiel took his wrist in his hand. “No! Don’t make cum in my boxers again. I hate having to go commando walking home.

“You could wear my trunks,” Lysander offered, his lips against Castiel’s neck.

“I hate those. Too tight.”

“Picky,” Lysander muttered. “Get undressed.”

Castiel did and climbed on the bed. As Lysander pushed him down and began kissing his way down his body, Castiel tangled a hand into his grey locks. “Will you tell me what it was this time?”

“After. Like always.”

“Like always,” Castiel muttered dispassionately but gasped when Lysander licked his sex.

“Past tense “always”, Castiel. Not future tense, I think.”

“Huh…?” the redhead sighed. Lysander was stroking him and it was getting harder and harder to understand language.

“I’ve decided. I’m going to confess to Leigh in the morning. I’m going to get help.” He kissed Castiel’s inner thigh, where a single shallow but very bloody cut, that Castiel had insisted Lysander make, left pale tan scar. “I couldn’t do it for me, but I can’t do this to you.” He kissed the scar again. “I’m not promising anything but to try.”

“I … I wouldn’t ask … any more than that …” Castiel was trying to stop himself from rocking his hips. Suddenly everything felt so much better, like something gave way, and his mind and body were synching up and he really felt Lysander for the first time. He moaned helplessly, titling his head back and shuddering.

“Good,” Lysander muttered up against his skin. “It’s going to be journey and I’m sure I’ll be ready for it in the morning, but for now, help me survive the night.”


	2. I Don't Need to Fix You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lysander may or may not be getting better. Castiel couldn't care less (in a good way).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be a one shot, but things like this don't tie up neatly 3,000 words. It'll go on for as long as I need it to.

Lysander breathed deeply, trying to clear his head, but it didn’t work. It seemed more like he was hyperventilating. He swallowed and began to rock and twitch, the nervous, dangerous energy of his attack finding cracks in his mental walls and oozing up into his muscles.

‘Get under control,’ he thought to himself and shut his eyes. ‘Get under control. Get under control!’

Suddenly he forced himself up, rising to his feet in one abrupt motion. But he didn’t have room to move. Castiel was standing so close that standing brought them chest to chest. The grey haired man didn’t show it, but he was shocked to see the redhead. He hadn’t heard him enter the room.

Castiel had a glass of soda in one hand and something else in the closed fist of the other. He set the glass down on his nightstand and with his now free hand he pushed gently on Lysander’s chest. The redhead stared into Lysander’s mismatched eyes without speaking.

Understanding, Lysander slowly sat back down on the bed. Castiel closed to the distance between them and straddled his boyfriend. He pushed Lysander’s hair back from his forehead and gazed at him. He wasn’t smiling. That was fine because he probably had nothing to smile about. But he did look … what was the word for it? Lysander was careful about his words. He always had been. He supposed Castiel looked soft. His face was so gentle but so sad. Lysander slid his hands over Castiel’s thighs. He wanted to say something but didn’t know what. It didn’t matter. A good deal of their time together was based of comfortable silences.

Raising his hand, Castiel brought his closed fist up to Lysander’s mouth and uncurled his fingers. In his palm was single, small, white pill. Lysander looked at it, only a little aware of Castiel reaching for the glass. The redhead titled his palm so that the pill was in his fingers and pressed the pill to Lysander’s mouth. Lysander parted his lips and let Castiel slip the pill into his mouth before taking a sip of the soda that the redhead offered to him. Once the pill was down, Castiel took a sip of the soda himself.

The redhead used to drink quite a bit. Lysander figured Castiel never really like alcohol, but drinking it meshed with his rebellious image. He'd indulged in it too. Used it to mute his raging thoughts and let himself sleep. Castiel had probably known why Lysander drank but he never spoke of it. Probably because Lysander only drank when he was at Castiel’s house and therefore Castiel could keep an eye on him

But now the redhead never drank. It was strictly soda, though Lysander would have preferred if he switched to tea or juice. However he wasn’t picky and knew why Castiel had done it.

Lysander’s medication didn’t allow for him to drink. There were the mood stabilizers, which were supposed to keep him calm. And there were the anti-anxiety pills which he used in emergencies. They were strong enough that if he took two of them, he was pretty much knocked out in a half asleep state until they wore off. The doctor had warned him never to drink with the anti-anxiety pills and had advised him strongly not to drink anyway if he could help it. So Lysander gave up alcohol. The first time he refused a drink Castiel offered to him, and explained why, Castiel had turned, poured both drinks into the kitchen sink and then poured the entire bottle of his favorite whiskey down the drain. After that, the redhead wordlessly poured two sodas and Lysander had never seen alcohol in Castiel’s presence again.

He watched Castiel take a long slow sip of soda before putting the glass back on the nightstand. Then the redhead turned back to him and put both hands on either side of Lysander’s head. He leaned forward and pressed his lips gently to the grey haired man. Lysander kissed back with more intensity, but Castiel ran a hand through Lysander’s hair, pressed their foreheads together and shook his head a little.

“No,” he said softly and kissed Lysander’s lips again.

Lysander shut his eyes and turned his head away. He lurched gently, as if he was going to throw up.

Castiel snorted softly and got off of his boyfriend. With rough pushes and yanks, he forced Lysander down into the bed and under the blankets. Then he climbed into the bed himself and put an arm over the taller male. They lay there, face to face, Lysander’s eyes closed, Castiel watching him.

“It’s okay,” the redhead said and as if he was suddenly given permission Lysander lurched again and coughed, but instead of throwing up and started to cry.

It wasn’t soft, gentle crying; it was great, heaving sobs that shook his fame and stopped his breathing periodically. He clutched Castiel unsure if he should let himself cry or try to get back in control. He knew what Castiel would tell him to do. The redhead never told him to stop crying, never shushed him. He simply lay with him quietly and laughed at the mess he’d made when he was done. Then he made them take a shower and they had sex in the shower.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was better than making himself bleed.

After several minutes of sobbing, Lysander ran out of energy to cry. A few hitched breaths ended up being all that was left in him. He was tired; his face stung where the salt in his tears was drawing the moisture out of his skin. But he felt calm. He felt in control again.

“God, that was awful,” Castiel muttered. Lysander looked up to find the man smirking at him. “I mean that was worse than usual. You sob like a woman.”

Lysander pushed himself up and a hand through his hair. “Yea, I’m okay now.”

Castiel sat up too and propped his arms on top of his raised knees. “Why do you say that?” he asked.

“Castiel,” Lysander sighed. “You and I both know that the only person we know that’s a bigger feminist than you, is Kim.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” Castiel protested. “There’s Rosa. Candy, I guess. And god help us, Amber, that bitch.”

“I was making a point, Castiel,” Lysander breathed. He was too tired for this. “What I mean is, when you start making misogynistic comments, you’re being sarcastic for effect. I don’t know why. I think it’s unnecessary and rather stupid, but …” Lysander trailed off, staring at a poster on Castiel’s wall.

The redhead reached out and stroked Lysander’s hair. “So what the fuck happened? I was gone for twenty minutes.”

“I don’t know,” Lysander admitted. “I was fine. I thought I was fine. Then little by little things started to go wrong. It was like there was something inside me, this dark viciousness. I wanted to scream or break something or stab myself. I came in here to rest. But I couldn’t lie down. I felt like I was suffocating. I kept trying to make it stop but I couldn’t.” The grey haired man stopped and sighed. “I’m sorry, Castiel. This isn’t what I came over here for.”

“Ah, well,” Castiel muttered. “It’s fine. I mean, if you freak out, I’d rather you freak out where I can help you.”

“You can’t help me,” Lysander said bitterly. “There is no helping me. I’ve been on these meds for weeks. I’m barely holding myself together. I can’t ...” He paused, staring at the wall with his face set into a silent snarl. “I’m thinking about going away.”

“Away? What the fuck does that mean?”

“Going back to live with my parents. Or getting some money to go overseas. Between Leigh and my parents I could scrape together enough for a plane ticket.”

“And what about school?”

Lysander laughed, sharply and mockingly. “School? It’s funny to hear to you say that.”

“Don’t fuck with me, Lys.” Castiel warned. “What about school?”

“I’ll drop out. I’m old enough.”

“Are you fucking kidding? You have half a year left! You can’t tough it out?”

“No, Castiel!” Lysander shouted, turning to the man. “I can’t tough it out! I’ve gotten worse since going to the doctor, not better! I’m going crazy here! I’d rather be dead!”

The two men stared at each other for a few seconds. Castiel had never seen Lysander angry. He didn’t like it. Like a symptom of a disease, it made red warning lights go off in the redhead’s mind. Slowly, Castiel spoke again. “What about me?” he asked softly.

Lysander stared at him for another second, before the anger drained from his face, but not the bitterness, and turned away. “What about you?” he repeated. “You’d finished school without any distractions. You’d probably go to trade school or college. You could go after Candy, if you wanted. She’d love to have your attention again.”

“She’s a lesbian, Lys,” Castiel muttered, raising an eyebrow. “Remember we threw her a coming out party and Rosa joked about leaving your brother for her and then he joked about them having a threesome and got so embarrassed that he left and wouldn’t talk to anyone for days.”

“So some other girl,” Lysander countered. “Or a guy. I don’t know. Maybe I’m not as much as the exception to your raging heterosexuality as I thought. You’ll be happy.”

“So what will you be? What will happen to you, without me there to protect you?”

Lysander whipped around so he was facing Castiel again. The anger came back and this time it was so hot it made his face turn red. “Castiel! What aren’t you getting? You can’t fix me! No one can fix me! Just let me go and try to live out the rest of what promises to be a short and unhappy life in as much peace as I can manage!”

“So what? You think you’re a hospice patient? That you’re destined to die, so you’re making yourself comfortable until then? And I’m what? I’m just supposed to let you disappear and die alone, god only knows where, because you think your life’s not worth saving?!”

“Castiel! You stupid, stupid, stubborn, pig-headed, selfish, blind asshole. Listen to me! You can’t save me. Listen. You. Cannot! FIX ME!”

“I’M NOT TRYING TO FIX YOU!”

It was a good thing they were alone in Castiel’s parents’ apartment. Castiel just hoped none of the neighbors could hear them. They were both red faced and panting. It looked like they had been fucking, not fighting.

“Lys,” Castiel said softly once he’d caught his breath. “I’m not trying to fix you. I’m not a character from some shitty romance novel. I don’t think that true love and enough patience can cure mental illness. You’re sick, Lys. Chronically sick. And you’re not going to get better just because I love you. But I do love you. More than anyone I’ve ever known. And if the rest of my life is cleaning up after your episodes, that’s fine, as long I can enjoy the times when you’re okay. We’re like planets revolving around one another. Take one of us away and other just goes nuts. You’re a great big bag of fucked up, but god, I’d rather have you and all your moods and madness than anything else in the world. You ARE my world, Lys.”

Lysander stared at the man, the rage gone from his features. If anything he looked confused. “I’m not sure what to say,” he muttered. “I want to be happy that you said you love me, because I love you, too, Castiel.”

“I know you love me. The whole, “I’m demisexual” thing sort of tipped me off.”

Lysander went on as if Castiel hadn’t spoken. “I also want to be very, very sad. I want to dissuade you from throwing the rest of your life away on me.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Lys,” Castiel said firmly.

Again, he got ignored. “I mean, what’s the point of it, you putting your time and effort into me? And besides, you say this now, but in a year, or two, or god help me ten or twenty, when I’m still, as you said, a great big bag of fucked up, you might leave. And having you leave when I’ve finally accepted that I have someone to share my life with, would be so much harder than us breaking it off now.”

“Didn’t I just say I’m not going anywhere?” Castiel sighed and fell back into the bed. “You know what? Let’s not. I’ll prove it you. I’ll just follow you wherever you go until one of us dies. You don’t have to believe me. Not now, not ever. I’m just going to follow you.”

“That’s disturbing, Castiel,” Lysander muttered, looking back at the man.

“That’s what you’ve driven me to. Are you done? I want to take a shower.”

“No. I feel one more thing.”

“What?”

Lysander chuckled. “I feel shock that you came up with a metaphor as poetic as “We’re like planets revolving around one another.” And spontaneously too. I’m impressed and dumbfounded all at once.”

Castiel snatched a pillow from beside him and hit Lysander with it. “Shut up,” he snapped with a smile. “I can be fucking poetic. I could be fucking Shakespeare if I wanted to.”

“If you could back in time, I bet you’d try to fuck Shakespeare,” Lysander joked and ducked out of the way when Castiel sat up and tried to hit him again, this time with his fist. When Castiel came at him a second time Lysander grabbed his wrist and wrestled him into the bed so that he was pinning him down.

“Jeez, Lys. If we’re going to fuck let’s at least get in the shower so we can clean up afterwards.”

“You like shower sex don’t you?” Lysander muttered.

“Seeing you wet and naked, pushing me up against the shower wall as you slip inside me with a silicone based lube and god, hitting that spot that makes me forget everything else but how good it feels? Yea. I like that.”

Lysander laughed, dipping down to press his forehead against the pillows next to Castiel’s head.

“See?” Castiel went on. “I can’t fix you. I know that. But I can be there to make you laugh for a while.” He wriggled his wrists out of Lysander’s now weak hold and put his arms around the taller man’s neck. “I can’t make your pain go away, but I can remind you there’s other things for you but pain and misery. Maybe you’ll never get any better than you are now, but I will never love you any less than I do now. I don’t need to fix you; I just need to be with you.”

“I see,” Lysander muttered. “But if you change your mind …”

“Ugh! I give up. Like I said I’m just going to have to follow you for the rest of our lives, whether you believe I’ll stay or not. It’s only way at this point.” Castiel pushed Lysander off of him and got out of bed. “Come on. We’re taking a shower.”

“To wash or to have sex against the wall?”

“Yes,” Castiel said simply as he walked away.


	3. Some Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a lot of different types of days in Lysander and Castiel's lives. It's not all good, but it's not all bad.

**Not all days were good days:**

“Why do you smell like smoke?” Nathaniel gave Castiel a look as the latter sat down at the café table with the blonde, Candy, Rosalya, Alexy and Armin.

Castiel took a long, deep breath before answering.

“Lysander took every non-essential piece of paper in the apartment and burned it.”

“What?” Candy gasped. Her face scrunched up as she said it.

“He collected all the paper,” Castiel went on, “and put it through the shredder. Once it was all shredded he dug a hole in our backyard, dumped the paper shreds in and lit it on fire. I woke to smoke coming in through our bedroom window.”

The table was silent for a while as Castiel’s friends processed.

“Your downstairs neighbors,” Nathaniel muttered.

“Gone still. She hasn’t come back from the hospital yet so …”

“Well at least your neighbors are never home,” Armin said with a smile. “That’s got to make it easier.”

“At least it was only paper,” Alexy offered.

Castiel rolled his eyes. In truth it was lucky that their neighbor was an old woman who spent most of her time in the hospital or with her family.  And of course it was luck that it was only paper. However, he didn’t feel like being grateful.

“I’ll never understand how we didn’t see anything,” Rosalya muttered.

Castiel had been waiting for that since Lysander had admitted to her he was sick. It was midsummer now. Lysander had made it to graduation and Castiel had convinced him not to run away. Their parents had gotten them an apartment, the upper level of a two family place right off the beach. And yet, Rosalya was only just now saying that.

“I mean … if things were as bad as you say they were,” she went on, “how did we not notice?”

“Lysander is private,” Candy offered. “We wouldn’t have gone snooping even if we’d had a suspicion.”

The group gave her a look and she blushed.

“Well, I would have,” she admitted sheepishly. “But I didn’t notice anything because he’s super private.”

“Look,” Castiel sighed. “He didn’t want anyone to know. Let’s just leave it at that.”

“But don’t you feel like it’s gotten worse since everyone found out?” Armin said. “I mean if he’d been doing shit like this before we knew, we would have found out.”

“If you ever say that where Lysander can hear you I’ll put you in the hospital,” Castiel muttered, but it had only a very little heat. He was angry, but tired. “He’s okay,” he stressed.

When his friends were silent for several seconds, Castiel softened.

“He is. He did get worse after he started seeing the doctor, but he’s getting better now. He copes. He likes destroying things.”

“That’s coping?” Alexy asked.

“Yea.” Castiel shrugged. “Works for me.”

Sighs and eye rolls rippled around the group.

“Just order your coffee, Castiel,” Nathaniel sighed.

**Some not good days were very soft days:**

“Castiel!”

He stopped and glanced back. Candy and her girlfriend Priya were speed walking to meet him. He offered them a smile, but Candy wasn’t not actually as dumb as she sometimes made herself out to be.

“What’s wrong?”

“Fuck,” Castiel sighed. “What?”

“You look upset. What’s wrong?”

“Jesus! Hi, Priya.”

“Hello, Casitel,” Priya said with a smile. “And stop that look. You know she’s like a cancer sniffing dog.”

“You should get her a leash.”

“Who says she I haven’t?”

“Oh My God! Priya!” Candy was the same color as Castiel dyed hair.

“Beautiful,” Castiel muttered with a shit-eating grin. “Alright. You’ve softened me up. It’s Lys.”

“Naturally,” Priya said. “What happened?”

“Nothing. Nothing is happening. Lysander is the absolute zero of action. He’s barely gotten out of bed in the last three days.”

“Ah, I see.”

Castiel shifted in place. “I’m getting some cleaning shit so we can clean the apartment. The doctor says easy, mindless work will keep him busy and the result of a clean apartment will give him a sense of accomplishment.”

“Perfect!” Candy chimed. “We’ll help.”

“Candy…” Priya muttered with a smile.

“No! Listen. I just got paid. We’ll go to the Dollar Shop, buy all the cleaning things. Things you’d never think off. Dusters, pet hair stuff, stuff to get clogs out of drains. We’ll take all day and slowly deep clean the apartment. By the time we’re done he’ll be hungry enough to eat some take out, tired enough to sleep, and he’ll wake up to a fresh, clean apartment.”

Castiel raised his eyebrows. Priya chuckled.

“You looked shocked, Castiel.”

“Don’t ever tell anyone,” Castiel responded. “Well, okay. It’s a good plan. You really want to do this.”

“Come on!” Candy took his arm. “New Objective: Buy cleaning supplies from the Dollar Shop.”

Priya caught Castiel’s eye when they looked at each other in confusion. As Candy pulled him forward, Castiel tried to silent pose his question. Priya gave up after a second and shrugged.

**Some of Lysander’s not good days coincided with Castiel’s bad days:**

“So what’d the vet say?”

Castiel was outside, on the far side of the flight school’s parking lot: the only place on property where anyone was allowed to smoke. He should quit but he really didn’t want to. However, his smoke was not distracting him from how long it was taking Lysander to answer. Rather, the slow burn of his cigarette only marked the seconds.

“Lys?”

**And on those days, Lysander seemed remarkably strong:**

“He said there’s a mass. It’s near his stomach. That’s why he’s not eating much. They can’t tell anything more without bloodwork and-”

Castiel took his phone away from his ear and sat on the ground. Honestly, he normally never would. The smoking area was littered with ashes and some people had a habit of spitting with the smoked which was disgusting to think about sitting in, but he didn’t trust his legs.

“—Castiel? Castiel!”

“What?” Castiel muttered absently.

“Are you coming home? I want to take Demon to the beach for a walk and get him some of that fancy refrigerated dog food.”

“He’s gonna die, isn’t he?”

Lysander’s voice was immediate, but so soft. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Do you want to think about euthanizing him? To save him the pain?”

“Will you take care of it? I don’t think I can do it.”

“Of course. You just focus on making him comfortable. I can handle everything else.”

“You promise?”

“I promise, Castiel. I love you.”

“ … I love you, too.”

**Some days weren’t just ‘not good,’ they were awful:**

“What the fuck, Castiel,” Nathaniel muttered.

He wasn’t sure he would have opened his apartment door if Castiel hadn’t started calling for him from the other side of it. It was two in the morning, after all, so why would he just open his door?

However now that he saw him, Nathaniel was glad he’d gotten up. Castiel was wearing a t-shirt and pajama bottoms under his leather jacket. There was blood on the shirt and bruises forming on his face.

“Where’s Lysander?” the blonde asked as he ushered the man into his apartment.

Castiel trudged inside in obvious pain. “With his brother. We got into a fight.”

“Fuck,” Nathaniel muttered. “How? Why?”

“He’s been manic for the last few days.”

“Yea. That’s right. Did he attack you?”

Dropping himself heavily onto the sofa, Castiel sighed. “Sort of. Not really. He was going manic, he said he needed to be alone. I was worried he’d cut again. He’s been fixating on knives. How pretty they are, their shine. He wrote a poem about it. He’s practically fucking Sweeney Todd. I didn’t want to leave him alone. When I tried to stay with him, he just fucking fell apart. Screaming at me, trying to leave the apartment. I blocked the door and he tried to tear me apart to get past me.”

As Nathaniel listened, he had gone into the kitchen and poured a glass of whiskey. Now he brought it back and handed it to Castiel.

“So then what happened?” he asked as he watched Castiel down the glass.

“Our fucking neighbor is home right now. She called the cops. They found us fighting in the downstairs hallway.”

“Fuck,” Nathaniel muttered.

“You know Lys. I’m the only one who gets to see him at his worst. As soon as the cops showed up he sort of pulled himself together a little. Stopping screaming, stopped fighting. We called Leigh, and he and Rosalya came and got him. I couldn’t stay there alone, so I came here.” Castiel finished the whiskey and looked Nathaniel.

Nathaniel stared at him for a moment before speaking. “You didn’t want to be alone so you came here?”

Normally Castiel would have snapped and said some nasty, but it was late and he was tired, and Lysander and he had been fighting. “You’re my friend,” Castiel answered in a rare moment unfought-for honesty. “I could have gone to Armin, I guess, but I didn’t want to. I wanted to see you.”

“Sometimes I don’t know what to say to you,” Nathaniel admitted. “Do you want another drink?”

“Yea.”

For few hours, they sat while Castiel nursed a couple of whiskeys and Nathaniel flipped through the TV channels. Sometime around sunup, Hallowed Be Thy Name started screaming out of Castiel’s cell phone.

“Lysander?” Nathaniel asked.

“How’d you guess?”

“You’re in obsessive true love with him. Who else’s name would be hallowed to you.”

“You’re taking that too seriously,” Castiel muttered, then accepted the call. “Hey. … Lys. … Lys, it’s okay. … No, I’m sorry I hit you. I just … It’s okay. … I know that now. … I’m sorry, Lys. I never meant to … I’m with Nathaniel at his place. … No, I wasn’t alone. … I’ll tell him. Look I’m coming to pick you up, okay. Just hold on. … I love you, too. See you in a bit. … Bye.”

Tapping away the call, Castiel took a deep breath.

“He’s okay?” Nathaniel asked.

“He was crying, which means he’s alone, which means Leigh though he was okay enough to be alone, so yea. He’s okay. He says thanks for keeping me company.”

“Anytime. I just got a car. Want me to drive you. You’re probably a little drunk.”

“Yea. Thanks.”

“Come on. Let’s pick up your boyfriend.”

**But some days – more often than Lysander would have believed possible - were good:**

The room smelt like smoke on one day. Another morning Castiel woke up to the smell of cleaning agents. But admittedly that hadn’t been so bad. And Candy had been right; Lysander had slept like a rock and woken up hungry. The effects had only lasted about a day, but that had been something.

However today, the air smelt like breakfast, which of course meant one thing, coffee.

Rolling out of bed and trudging sleepily out of the bedroom, Castiel followed the smell of coffee to the empty kitchen. Too groggy and content to worried about the lack of his boyfriend despite there being signs of breakfast being made, he poured himself a cup of coffee and headed for the living room. He was happy to see Lysander sprawled across a corner of the sofa, breakfast eaten, coffee up in his hand.

“Breakfast today?” Castiel asked. He was pleased with Lysander’s energy.

“Did you get something?”

“Just coffee.” Castiel tucked himself into Lysander who shifted to make their edges line up. “I’ll warm something up later.” He took a sip of his coffee, sighed and relaxed. “I’m off today. Wanna try to get through the rest of 27 Sexy Things You’ve Never Tried?”

“Sure. We can use the dress ties Rosalya bought us as blindfolds and restraints.”

“Pff. At least we can tell her we used them.”

“Yea.” For a moment Lysander paused. Then he shifted and spoke again. “Cas, I feel like to today is going to be really nice.”


End file.
